


1969

by novelteas



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, George Fancy Lives, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Period-Typical Homophobia, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford, again these tags are just. not helpful are they, and peter is still ehre, bc that works best for my ideal universe, but you know. it's pretty tame, didnt know that was a tag but yeah cool, feel free to smite me for my stupidity guys, haha. 69, hahah. sIxty-nIne, i rated it m for the frequent use of a number of expletives, let's pretend this is 1969?, lets leave it there lmao, ok i swear im like a responsible adult who has a job and pays taxes but, uhhh what else can i tag this with, uhhhh, where george fancy is still alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelteas/pseuds/novelteas
Summary: Morse flinched. “This isn’t a competition to see who can say the most ridiculous thing.”“I’m not just saying it.”“You’re drunk,” Morse said, finishing the rest of his own champagne.Jakes bent down and set his glass on the ground beside him. “Believe me, Morse, I’m not.” He reached out and rubbed at Morse’s jacket, where a tiny drop of champagne had left a spot. “I hate what those words mean about me, but I love you. I might only be saying it because it’s midnight on New Year’s Day and I didn’t kiss anyone, but then I didn’t kiss anyone in there only because I wanted to kissyou.”
Relationships: Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	1969

Strange stopped at the door. “You’re not coming?” he asked, looking back at Morse, who was sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand.

Morse shook his head. “Why would I?” He gestured at the crossword puzzle in front of him, the glass of whiskey to the side, the stack of records sitting next to his turntable in the corner. “I’ve got everything I need here.”

“Come on, matey,” said Strange, closing the door again. “I’m not leaving until you get yourself up and come along.”

Morse snorted. “That’s stupid. There’s no reason for me to stop you going. We’ve very different ideas of how to spend New Year’s Eve.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t come for a great party. Come on. Everyone’ll be there. Even Mr. Bright’s coming.” Strange dropped his coat on the back of the armchair and folded his arms sternly, staring at Morse. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. Even if you’re drinking, it’s far more fun with the rest of the station.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Morse grumbled, throwing his pen down and standing up. “Alright then. I’ll come, if only to satisfy you.”

The pub was packed — most of the people Morse knew as uniformed officers, a few were simply regulars who’d chosen to celebrate at the bar. He frowned, thinking about how he’d have to spend the night avoiding conversation with everyone. 

Joan spotted him from across the room and waved him over. “All right?” she said cheerfully, tapping the counter to get the bartender’s attention and pointing at Morse. “Happy New Year, Morse.”

Morse smiled thinly, glancing around the rest of the room. “Miss Thursday. Happy New Year.” He took the proffered glass of whiskey and raised it in half a toast. “Are your parents here?”

“Sorry?” Joan leaned in closer, trying to hear. “Mum and Dad? Oh, they’re somewhere over there, in the corner or something. Talking to Mr. Bright, I think, or whatever his name is. Dad’s boss.” She tossed back her glass of wine and made at face at him. “Come on, let your hair down. Not as if you’re not on-duty.”

“It feels a bit like I am,” Morse said, surveying the room and identifying all the people he knew from work. Fancy was over in the corner opposite them, one arm around Trewlove, who smiled when she made eye contact with Morse. Miss Frazil had some stranger on her arm — Morse couldn’t believe how she was always ruling the roost — talking to Thursday and Mr. Bright. Strange had abandoned him almost as soon as they walked in the door, citing a girl he was seeing. It might as well was an office party. 

“Oi-oi,” said a voice, and a thump on the back. “Look who’s come crawling out of his hole?”

Morse coughed. “Sergeant Jakes,” he said.

Jakes laughed. “Look at him,” he said to Joan, moving to stand behind her. “Who managed to get him here? Strange?”

“I know,” Joan said. “It’s a miracle. We’re going to have to loosen him up.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Jakes downed the rest of his glass and slammed it down firmly on the bar. “Come on, Morse. Let’s get absolutely blitzed. I’ve never seen you drunk, and I’m dying to at least once before I get killed or something.”

Morse smiled politely and stepped out of Jakes’s reach. “I think I’d prefer to maintain control of all my faculties,” he said.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Jakes said, downing another glass in one go. He grimaced. “Jesus, Frank, what’s this shit? You out of the good stuff already? Have one on me, Morse.” And he wandered off, hollering and whooping.

* * *

The countdown ended with cheers and toasts and the sound of a bottle of champagne popping open. “Happy New Year,” Joan giggled, tipsy. She pulled on his sleeve and leaned in to peck him on the cheek. Then, “Oh, God, I hate watching Mum and Dad getting sentimental at midnight.”

Everyone yelled, applauded. Morse pretended to take a sip of his champagne and excused himself, wandering off to the back garden to look at the sky. Trewlove and Fancy were swaying in place outside to imaginary music around the corner. “Ugh,” Jakes was saying, having presumably come across them, “just keep it clean, you two.” He turned the corner and spotted Morse. “Morse! You just standing out here alone? Fucking knob.”

“It’s a bit crowded in there,” Morse said, raising his flute in Jakes’s direction.

“Cheers, mate,” Jakes said, toasting his own. “What the fucking hell are you looking at?” He stood next to Morse and stared, hands in pockets, up at the sky. “Cloudy as shit. Got any resolutions? Seem like the sort.”

Morse shrugged. “Not in particular.”

“Right, well, I’ve got one,” Jakes announced. “Which is to be less of an arsehole to the junior officers. Thursday suggested it to me.”

Morse glanced sideways at Jakes and laughed. “Wish he’d suggested it sooner.”

“Yeah, sorry mate. I came ‘round in the end. We all pegged you as a bit of a — "

“ —‘queer fish,’” Morse finished. “I know. Strange told me.” Jakes dug a cigarette out of his pocket and held the box out. Morse declined. “I never said,” he added, taking an actual sip of his champagne now, “thanks for — well, for. You know.”

Jakes turned to look at him sharply, and Morse almost recoiled from his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “‘Course.” He sighed, his breath puffing out in a big white cloud in front of them. “It was the least I could do, you know.”

“I know you just felt guilty.”

Jakes coughed uncomfortably and looked down, kicking at the gravel beneath their feet. “It’s as good a reason as any, isn’t it?” Morse nodded. “And Christ, I’d have gone fucking crazy if I didn’t.”

Morse chuckled. “Would you have?” He squinted up at the sky, trying to pick out stars in the haze. Jakes didn’t reply. Morse didn’t need one; he knew the answer. “And I never apologized, either.”

“The fuck do you mean? For what?” 

“It can’t have been pleasant. Me coming to find you in the pub. The internal affairs investigation.” Morse glanced over, watched as Jakes lit his cigarette. “Administrative leave.”

Jakes took a deep drag and shook his head. “It’s in the past, Morse. Leave it. Last year.”

They remained in silence for a while, enveloped by cigarette smoke and the pleasant hum of everyone inside bleeding into the garden. “I suppose what I’m trying to say,” Morse said, finally, staring straight ahead into the darkness, “is that I got you wrong. I mean — I mean that I was wrong about you.” The only sound from Jakes was a crackling of his cigarette. “I thought you were nothing but an arsehole. I still think that, but as it’s a new year, I think I should tell you that I’m — I’m very grateful for you. I’m glad that we work together, and that you’re here tonight, and — I suppose I’m simply grateful that you exist.”

There was stunned silence. “Jesus, Morse,” Jakes said finally. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you’d open up.”

“Oh, well, it takes one to know one,” Morse snapped, irritated. The man never could leave something without a snarky response, could he? 

Jakes flicked his cigarette to the dirt and ground it out under his heel. “Alright, be like that then,” he said. He leaned back against the brick wall and turned his head. “Morse, I fucking love you.”

Morse flinched. “This isn’t a competition to see who can say the most ridiculous thing.”

“I’m not just saying it.”

“You’re drunk,” Morse said, finishing the rest of his own champagne.

Jakes bent down and set his glass on the ground beside him. “Believe me, Morse, I’m not.” He reached out and rubbed at Morse’s jacket, where a tiny drop of champagne had left a spot. “I hate what those words mean about me, but I love you. I might only be saying it because it’s midnight on New Year’s Day and I didn’t kiss anyone, but then I didn’t kiss anyone in there only because I wanted to kiss _you_.” He lifted his hand to Morse’s face and held it there, cupping his cheek in his palm. 

Morse felt like someone had punched him in the throat and left him unable to speak or breathe. He reached up unconsciously to touch Peter’s hand, to press it against his face. “Peter,” he said quietly, locking eyes, watching tears well up in Peter’s eyes whilst blinking away his own. “Not here.”

“Then come home with me,” Peter whispered, and he sounded so broken and lonely, but when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the curve of Morse’s lips, he felt so whole and beautiful that Morse couldn’t say no.

* * *

Peter pulled Morse towards him by the waist and slammed himself against the wall as soon as his door was shut. He kept his eyes closed, and he kissed hungrily and desperately, and he held Morse by the dip of his jaw in one hand and stroked his hair with the other, and he let Morse do all the work — as _always_ , the lazy sod — until he managed to drag them onto his bed in one piece, clothes strewn in a messy path from the front door that ended in bare skin and kissing.

“Fuck,” he whispered, as Morse made his way down his body, underside of his jaw and then his neck and then collarbone and suddenly his sides and his waist and then the spot where his thighs met his hips and _fuck_ , Morse must have had a hell of a time when he was at university.

And they continued kissing, soft and sloppy and wet and messy, and Jakes felt like his chest was going to explode as he watched Morse’s sculpted fucking back moving between his legs and when they finished he held Morse in his arms and felt the sticky humidity on the back of his neck. He tipped his head forward to kiss him again, and again, and again, to feel the booze still on his tongue and the beads of sweat on his forehead just between his eyebrows, where the ridge of his nose met the dip of his eyes. 

“I love you,” he said again, very softly, running a hand through Morse’s hair and relishing the way it felt between his fingers. He reached out with his other hand for Morse’s, laced their fingers together. “Endeavour Morse.”

Morse sat up and twisted around to look at him. “I never told you — how d’you know my name?”

“I looked it up in the register,” Peter admitted, cracking a smile. “A few weeks after you started.” Morse pulled the pillow out from beneath his head and threw it at him; Peter caught it and laughed. “Don’t hate me, I just wanted to know!”

“They say curiosity killed the cat,” Morse said, lying back down and kissing Peter again. “Don’t ever tell anyone.”

Peter laughed again. “I won’t,” he whispered, rolling over and turning out his light. He wrapped his arm around Morse. “I’ve resolved to be kinder to the junior officers, remember? Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Morse said sleepily. Then, “Peter?”

“Christ, don’t tell me you’ve got questions at this time. What, you want to know my entire thought process?”

“We’re both sergeants, you knob.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year y'all! was going to do something and then i was like hm no not worth it but then i saw a bunch of new year's writing prompts and i ended up writing this (which came out very differently from my original intention) but ya happy new year! happy 2020! i'm in arizona so i have 6.5 hours to go so no spoilies!!!
> 
> also can we just appreciate how i wrote morse's pov and then at the very end i cracked and switched to peter. yeah. im my own worst enemy smh
> 
> ALSO LMAO I ALMOST WROTE A FULL BLOWN SMUT SCENE but eventually i got too lazy to so sorry. i might owe everyone a smut scene at some point i guess lol
> 
> as uszhh my tumblr's @petersjakes, i'm too lazy to put in the html lol but yeah there it is. might fuck around and make a playlist for this fic. have a great 2020! -i.v.


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